


Silent Prayers

by DestielDaydream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Madness, Medicinal Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 10:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1222282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestielDaydream/pseuds/DestielDaydream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whilst working a case involving the strange death of teenager Augustus Madison, the Winchesters are led to Walker House, a home for the mentally unstable. As they begin the unravel the mystery, they soon find they are involved in something much more dangerous than they originally thought. All the while, Dean is inexplicably drawn to the enigmatic Castiel who seems to know more than he is letting on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monkey Suits

The ceiling was boring. It never changed colour or shape, and it never seemed interesting. Yet somehow Castiel could not drag his eyes away from it. Maybe it was because he had nothing better to do and his brain didn’t seem to be functioning as well as it did when he was first admitted to Walker House. The scratchy bed sheets made his bare arms itch as he lay there. A sigh formed at Castiel’s lips, yet the sound never left his tongue.

“Castiel,” he didn’t turn to look at who had entered his small, plain room. He recognised Meg’s voice almost immediately. She was the only nurse who would deal with him these days due to his refusal to make small talk, or communicate at all really. Castiel squeezed his eyes shut and fisted the sheets in his palms. “I have your medication.”

Meg’s chirpy voice was much too upbeat for Castiel. He didn’t see what there was to be happy about in Walker House. Castiel decided it would be much easier to ignore the nurse’s speech and instead search for solace in his own mind. 

“Listen, Castiel,” Meg got louder as she approached the dark-haired man, tentatively. “I know it sucks, and I know you don’t want to be in here but the sooner you take your meds the sooner you’ll get better and-”

Meg stopped dead as a pair of blue eyes suddenly snapped to hers. Castiel’s eyes were unlike anything she’d ever seen, as deep as the ocean and as clear as crystal. Once you’d met the gaze of the madman, there was no escape. 

A madman he wasn’t though. Despite what the doctors and psychologists said, and regardless of the countless drugs he was allocated, he wasn’t crazy. No one would believe him if he told them what he was. The one time he did tell someone what he was going through, he’d ended up in a mental institution. A place he still resided in. One day he’d find someone to believe him, but until that day came he was prepared to remain silent to stop him being analysed any further.

He stared, unblinking, at the brunette nurse who’d stopped mid-sentence. Castiel almost rolled his eyes at the dumbfounded look on her face. He exhaled before casting his eyes back to the ceiling. It really was a plain and boring ceiling.

After a silence which seemed to drag on for far too long, Meg continued. 

“Just take the damn pills and I’ll get out of your hair,” she cleared her throat as she placed the little plastic cup on the bedside table. The blue and yellow tablets contained within it seemed so much brighter than the rest of the whitewashed room. They almost looked too happy to be there. The irony would have made Castiel laugh if only he knew how to. “You’re such a stubborn asshole. You know that, right?” Meg muttered. 

Without uttering so much as a response, Castiel manoeuvred himself on his bed to rest his back against the headboard. The bedsprings creaked in protest as he got into a comfortable position. Silently, he reached across and took the little plastic cup and the glass of water which had been there since last night. In a moment the colourful pills had gone, as well as half of the water. 

“Damn it Sammy,” a voice wafted through the door which Meg had, much to Castiel’s frustration, left open following her arrival. The voice was low and rough, and Castiel automatically knew that the voice did not belong to any of the staff at the house. Castiel was a very perceptive inmate. He was silent, but observant. “You know I don’t do well in these places.”

The response which came was a little muffled. Castiel could just about make out the words ‘shut up’ and ‘do your job’. 

_Job? Are there new nurses?_ Castiel sighed as he reminded himself that he shouldn’t be intrigued by it. New things were never good in Walker house. A new inmate meant trouble and fuss. A new nurse meant hesitant conversations as they acted like each inmate was an unexploded bomb which may explode at any moment. A new drug was definitely not a good thing, especially when Castiel had no control over what he was taking. Only heaven knew what he was taking and what effect it was having on him. _Only heaven knows._

Meg groaned, drawing Castiel’s eyes away from the open door and back to her. “Those men in monkey suits are still mooching around then,” she uttered is disapproval. “I don’t know what they expect to find in a loony bin.” She eyed Castiel nervously, but his eyes had glazed over and he was staring past her shoulder to a blank patch on the wall. It was a sign that he had effectively left the room and disappeared into the dark abyss of his mind. Meg continued regardless. “No offence.”

 _Monkey suits, huh._ Castiel disregarded Meg’s comments as he slid down onto his back and closed his eyes once more, making it obvious that the conversation was over. Meg ran a hand through her hair as she cast her eyes over the silent man. He wore the white scrubs which every other inmate wore, stripping away any sense of identity that they once had. It was “easier to work with a blank canvas” Michael, the head psychologist, had once told her. That whole conversation had made Meg feel sick to her stomach. But it wasn’t the scrubs which bothered her. It wasn’t particularly warm in Walker House, whether it was due to the central heating or the fact that the place was so lifeless that all the warmth and life had been sucked out of it. Yet, despite this, Castiel had no socks on. His pale feet almost blended in with their surroundings as Castiel stretched out his toes. Why did this man have to be so awkward and frustratingly quiet? Was he that broken inside? 

Meg cleared her throat once more as she got to her feet. “Get some rest Castiel and I’ll be back with your lunch a little bit later.” She hesitated. “Maybe you could actually come to the lounge later this evening. I know that Balthazar and Gabe are particularly missing you.” 

No reply came. Meg didn’t know what she expected really, but it still didn’t stop the swell of disappointment which formed in her gut. She took one last look at Castiel before leaving the room, closing the door softly behind her.

~~~~~

A sandy-haired man tugged at his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. 

“Dean,” his taller companion complained. “Stop messing with your shirt and tie.”

Dean rolled his eyes as he pulled the tie a little more so it was loose around his neck. “Sammy, I’ve told you that these places give me the creeps,” he said, a little bit too loudly for the taller man’s liking, as they continued down one of the corridors. “And holy crap these corridors are never-ending.”

“Stop calling me Sammy, my name is Sam.” Sam complained as he tucked a piece of long brown hair behind his ear. “You look scruffy now and FBI agents don’t look scruffy.” He cast a sideways glance at Dean.

“Blah, blah, blah, I don’t really care about looking scruffy, little brother.” Dean muttered as the corridor started opening up into a large seating area. “Do you honestly think that any of these fruitcakes are going to give two craps about the way I look? Hell, these poor sons of bitches probably won’t even realise we’re talking to them.”

Sam frowned at his brother, disapprovingly. “Dean, you can’t say stuff like that.” He hissed.

Dean simply shrugged as they stepped into the lounge area. He plastered a fake, tight smile onto his face as a few of the inmates fixed their eerie gazes on the Winchesters. Sam felt Dean’s elbow dig into his ribcage, causing him to inhale sharply. He cast a ‘cut it out, you’re being an asshole’ look at his elder brother. Dean dismissed it.

“Why are they looking at us like that?” Dean shifted uneasily. One of the nurses looked up from the far side of the room. On seeing the two brothers, she excused herself from her game of chess with one of the inmates and made her way over to them.

“Nice monkey suits,” Meg mumbled as she reached Dean and Sam. Dean raised his eyebrows slightly. “I’m Meg, one of the head nurses, can I help you?” She asked, looking from one man to the other.

“Uh, yeah,” Sam fumbled over his words as he grasped hold of his fake FBI badge from the inside pocket of his blazer. He presented the badge to a seemingly unimpressed Meg. “We’re here to gain some information on the death of Augustus Madison, we were just wondering if we could talk to some of the… residents.” Dean nodded along, tugging his FBI badge out as well.

“I don’t see why the FBI are so involved,” Meg shrugged, exhaling as her shoulders sagged a little. She looked tired and she knew it. 

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Dean challenged as he tried not to focus on the small, red-haired girl sitting at one of the tables. She was glaring at Dean and it was doing nothing for his comfort level.

“Oh, you know. Small town, hardly on the radar,” Meg replied, growing bored with the conversation. “Seems a little odd to me, that’s all.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest once more. Sam could tell that he was on edge and would do anything to start a fight at this point. He quickly rushed in to silence Dean.

“Just following up some leads ma’am,” Sam said politely. “So would it be ok to talk to some of the guys?”

Meg narrowed her eyes as she glanced between the two of them. “Please, call me Meg because ma’am is far too formal, unless you’re British. As for talking to the patients,” she brought her arms up and moved them in a broad sweeping action. “You can try to talk to them. Don’t know if you’ll get any sense out of them, but you can ask. It’s a shame really. I always thought that Augustus was one of the better kids.” Meg grimaced. 

“What was he in here for?” Dean queried. He let out a relieved breath as the red-haired girl finally looked away from him in order to get up and leave the room. 

“I don’t know if I’m allowed to disclose that,” Meg said unsurely. Sam and Dean watched as she looked over her shoulder to check that no one was doing something they shouldn’t be doing, or to make sure that no one was close enough to hear their conversation. The Winchesters couldn’t be sure which.

Dean lifted his FBI badge once more as if to remind the nurse that they were of high enough authority to be told the private information. “You can trust us, we’re the law,” he said with an unsettling grin. 

This time, Meg rolled her eyes. She sighed before hushing her voice and beckoning for the brothers to lean in closer. Sam and Dean leaned forward into her personal space. Being taller, Sam found that he had to bend a lot more than his slightly shorter brother, especially because Meg was hardly what you’d call tall. 

“Augustus got sent to us a few days after his nineteenth birthday,” Meg began. “We don’t get a lot of young males. I was surprised that he’d even been admitted, because I couldn’t see much wrong with the boy.” Meg frowned and creases appeared between her brows. “Then again, some of them don’t look like there’s much wrong with them. He was bright and cheerful, and after a month or so of treatment he was sent away. Michael, he’s the big cheese here, said that there was no point keeping Augustus when there seemed to be little wrong with him.”

“Why was he admitted in the first place if there was nothing wrong with him?” Sam almost whispered.

Meg scrunched up her eyes as she tried to remember the boy’s file. “He was said to have schizophrenia. He turned up on the first day with stories of supernatural creatures. I’ve seen people high who make up all that crap though. I thought he might’ve just been high when he got admitted in the first place, kept the others entertained if nothing else.”

“What kind of supernatural creatures?” Dean asked. He was tugging at his tie once more and toyed with the idea of taking it off completely. What was the point of ties anyway? They just take a long time to do up and made Dean feel like his neck was in a noose. 

“Does it matter?” Meg placed her hands on her hips. “Look, fellas. I hate to burst your bubble but this place,” she waved her hands manically around her head. “This place is a nuthouse! The people here always arrive spewing a load of bull about all kinds of crazy. If I were to remember every story from every patient, I would end up here myself!”

Dean’s patience was wearing thin. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. _Listen bitch, I just want to get the information and get the fuck out of here so stop being a pretentious asshole._ Dean’s thoughts made his facial expression sour dramatically. Meg either didn’t notice it or chose to ignore it. 

“I know it must be terribly difficult,” Sam stated. “But it would really help if you could remember.” 

“Common crazy,” Meg sighed. “Werewolves, vampires… heck, he even started going on about demons at one stage. I mean, come on! _Demons_ , really?!” 

Dean suppressed a smug grin and cleared his throat. “Well thanks Meg, we’ll let you get back to dealing with the patients.” He was itching to get away from the nurse, and the patients come to that. Hell, he just wanted to leave the damn building and sit in the safety of his trusty Impala. 

“Look, whatever, just don’t freak the guys out too much.”

Sam and Dean both nodded before she turned on her heel and walked back over to the game of chess which she had abandoned. The patient she’d been playing with, a grey-haired man, who had his back to the Winchesters, hadn’t moved an inch in her absence. The thought sent a shiver down Dean’s spine. If he stayed here much longer it was going to be him getting freaked out, never mind the inmates.

“Talk about a narcissistic bitch,” Dean muttered once Meg was out of earshot. 

Sam levelled Dean with a bitchface. “Seriously man, just talk to the patients already and we can get the hell out of here.”

Dean uttered something under his breath, which Sam didn’t quite catch, before strolling off towards a lady sat on the sofa. 

Sam sighed. It was going to be a long day.


	2. Restless Souls

When Castiel opened his eyes again the ceiling was still there. It was still boring, but at least it was there. Castiel leaned his head to read the numbers from the digital clock on his bedside table.

13:18.

With a sigh he sat up and lazily threw his legs off the side of the bed. He shivered a little as the laminate flooring was cold against his bare feet. The shock of the chill almost convinced him to swing himself back onto the bed and lay on his back again. But a small part of him was niggling at him, telling him to go to the lounge to find out more about those mysterious voices which had wafted through his door earlier.

With a great effort, Castiel stood up and went towards the door. At least Meg will be happy for once.

Castiel padded down the corridor. He walked stiffly, just like he always had. Many would assume Castiel was awkward and uptight due to his posture and enunciation. Little did they know he had little experience of any other way of being. The sound of chatter and a children's cartoon show drifted through the heavy air to reach Castiel. It told him that he was nearly at the end of the seemingly infinite corridor. Castiel couldn't help but groan when he saw how busy the lounge was, he really wasn't one for social interaction.

~~~~~

Sam cast a glance at his brother from across the room. They had been talking to the residents for little over half an hour and they hadn’t gotten anywhere. Catching Sam’s eye, Dean nodded a goodbye at the woman he was talking to. She had blonde hair and was called Lilith, Dean had found out. But that was about all he’d found out. Well, that, and the fact that she had been waiting for a slice of pie since she had arrived over 5 months ago. Dean would kill for some pie right now.

The Winchesters regrouped by the bay window at the far end of the room. 

“Anything?” Sam asked as he ran a hand through his unruly hair. When Dean shook his head, Sam let out a pained sigh. “Yeah, me neither.”

“Are you two lads here because of poor Gus?” An English accent cut through their conversation. The voice belonged to a man with blonde hair and blue eyes. He had wrinkles on his face but he wasn’t exactly old, Dean would guess mid- to late-thirties. He was sat with another man with longer brown hair who was running his index finger around the rim of a glass of water.

“You know something?” Dean practically snapped. He’d been running around in circles for the past half hour and really longed for some development on the case so that he could get back to the dingy motel they were staying at. 

“Maybe we do,” the second man looked up from his cup and raised an eyebrow. “Who’s asking?”

Dean pulled out one of the plastic chairs opposite the English man and plopped down into it. “The FBI,” he stated simply. “So cut the bullcr-”

Sam cleared his throat, “what my partner is trying to say is that we would appreciate if you let us know anything you know about Augustus.” He took a seat next to Dean. “Sorry, it’s been a long day.”

The two men looked at one another and smirked. It was the one with the English accent who continued speaking. 

“I’m Balthazar and this is Gabe,” he gestured to the man at his elbow. “We’re what you’d call the more ‘with it’ members of this lovely little community.”

Gabe snorted. “Hell, we’re the only sane members in this joint.”

“Gabriel!” Balthazar nudged his friend in the side. 

“Sorry, but it’s true.” Gabe held his palms up to Sam and Dean. “But yeah, anyway, what did you need to know about Gus?”

“You know about his death, right?” Sam asked tentatively. Dean seemed to be losing interest fast and had his eyes trained on the area where the corridor met the lounge. 

“Poor bugger,” Balthazar said as he sighed. “He was only in here for a few weeks, a month tops maybe.” Gabe nodded in agreement before Balthazar continued. “It’s all a bit suspect if you ask me. He was fine one minute, but then Michael upped his dose of crazy meds.”

“Why did he do that?” A crease formed between Sam’s eyebrows. “Meg told us that he wasn’t bad at all.”

Gabe raised his eyebrows at the younger hunter. “Exactly.”

“Suspect,” Balthazar repeated. 

“Are you suggesting that Michael caused Augustus, uh, Gus, to overdose? Do you know what is in those meds?” Sam had hushed his voice. He peered at his brother but he was still focused on the opening. He followed his line of vision until he saw what Dean was staring at. “Dean?”

“Hm, what?” Dean stumbled as he dragged his eyes back to Sam. “Meds, right. What’s in them?” 

Balthazar smirked again before his face dropped. “Hell knows.”

“They are different coloured. The main ones which most people get are yellow and blue.” Gabe leaned further across the table, pushing his glass to one side. The contents sloshed over the sides and made little puddles on the table-top. “They keep the residents calm and relatively brain-dead most of the time. Those ones don’t seem too bad but the red ones…”

“What do the red ones do?” Sam probed. He’d always been the more curious of the Winchesters. Dean would often joke about it saying that Sam was much too curious and nerdy for his own good. Sam would shrug it off and go back to researching lore and supernatural creatures.

“I say they drive the poor sods even crazier.” Gabe answered as he fixed Sam with a withering look.

“Here one minute, gone the next.” Balthazar sighed. “Red meds often mean bad things, my friends.”

“Huh,” Dean muttered, narrowing his eyes at the two residents. He couldn’t really focus anymore. His mind kept drifting back to the man who’d just entered the room moments ago. He was wearing the white scrubs that everyone had to wear, but he had no shoes or socks on. His hair was dark brown, possibly even black, Dean couldn’t be sure, but it was those eyes which really stuck in his mind. They were so blue and Dean had never seen anything quite so bright and clear. Dean’s gaze drifted towards the opening again to see the mysterious man walk towards the sofa. “Who’s that?” He asked.

Balthazar and Gabe turned in unison to look at the person in question. Immediately afterwards they shared a surprised look.

“I can’t believe it,” Balthazar said. His eyebrows had risen to his hairline, creating more wrinkles on his forehead. “That’s Castiel. He never talks and hardly ever leaves his room.”

Sam automatically reached out and clasped hold of Dean’s sleeve. “Don’t even think about it.” He warned.

Dean met his brother’s eyes and grinned. “You don’t even know what I was going to do.”

“You were going to saunter over there and try to get him to talk, because you see it as a challenge and you have a large ego,” Sam stated with a roll of his eyes.

“Good luck with that mate,” Balthazar got up from the table. “He hasn’t spoken in weeks.”

Gabe also got to his feet, “nice to see you guys. I hope you find the idiot who offed Gus.” It startled the Winchesters to hear the men speak about Gus’ death as murder without any hesitation. Something at this house was definitely not quite right. “We must retire to our rooms now, hell, at least they’re not padded.”

With that, the two men were gone. Sam turned to his brother to find that he was already on his feet and halfway across the room. _Dammit Dean, why are you so goddamn impulsive?_

~~~~~~

Castiel picked at the hem of his white tee. The gentle hum of the TV and chatter amongst his housemates rang loud in his ears after countless hours of silence. He immediately started to regret his decision to leave the comfort of his room. That was, if ‘comfort’ was the right word to use for a small, clinical room. 

“Hey,” Castiel was startled as a man with a deep voice came and sat next to him. Of course, Castiel recognised the voice almost instantly. _The men in monkey suits._ Castiel nodded at him. He noticed that the man’s eyes were a green colour, but they looked a little faded. Curiosity tugged at Castiel as he longed to know this man’s story. “I’m Dean.” The man continued.

Castiel opened his mouth slightly, and Dean smiled a little. However, before Castiel uttered a single word he’d snapped his mouth shut again.

“Castiel, right?” Dean pressed on as he stretched out his palms on his lap. Castiel nodded once again, looking down at the floor. “I hear you’re not much of a talker, but I saw you over here and I thought I’d come and say hi.” 

Dean watched as Castiel narrowed his eyes, staring intently at a scuff on the cheap linoleum floor. His throat also worked furiously as if being in such close proximity to a stranger was a task of great difficulty.

Dean cleared his throat awkwardly and shuffled on the sofa. “So, uh, me and my partner are here looking into the death of Augustus Madison, I was wondering if you knew him at all?” He studied Castiel. Something about him wasn’t the same as the other crazies in this place. In fact, Castiel didn’t seem mad at all. Dean considered the fact that Castiel may just be silent out of respect for his own sanity. “I know you aren’t going to talk to me but maybe you could write something down, anything at all. It’s just that these places creep me out a little bit,” Dean ran a hand through his hair and desperately tried to meet Castiel’s eyes. “Come on Cas, give me something here.”

Dean slumped his shoulders a little. Castiel wrung his hands together in his lap. Dean was exuding an energy that, even in his weakened state, Castiel couldn’t ignore. His soul was troubled and its distress made Castiel feel uneasy. Without thinking, he reached his hand out to Dean and placed two fingers to his forehead. Dean froze, eying the madman cautiously. 

A warm, calming sensation spread throughout Dean, causing him to close his eyes and lean into Castiel’s touch. After a moment, Dean’s eyes snapped open and he jerked away from Castiel’s outstretched hand. His eyes widened and he felt panic rise up in his chest.

“What the _hell_ was that?” He hissed at Castiel. 

Castiel simply dropped his hand and cleared his throat. He got to his feet and nodded at Dean.

“No, no, no.” Dean muttered. “Cas, you don’t do some weird shit to me and then walk away without telling me what the fuck just happened.” Castiel began to walk away but suddenly came to a stop as Dean grabbed hold of his slender wrist. With fearful eyes, Castiel stared at where their skin made contact, before meeting Dean’s eyes. Beautiful blue meeting fading green. _“What are you?”_ Dean whispered.

Castiel’s mouth dropped open as they stood in a deadlock, neither daring to look away first. If there was ever anyone who looked more like a deer in the headlights at that moment, it was Castiel. All this time he had been able to stay silent, to keep his abilities and soul readings under control, but there was something about Dean which made him feel comfortable and vulnerable all at the same time. He was exposed, and it was somewhat liberating. At the same time it was terrifying. It was making his head hurt.

“Dean…” The word sounded foreign on Castiel’s tongue. It had been such a long time since he’d spoken he had started to wonder if his throat was even capable of making noise anymore. 

“Castiel, it’s time for you to return to your room,” another male voice interrupted Dean and Castiel. The two looked up to see Sam stood with a man Dean had yet to be introduced to. “Now.”

Castiel glanced between Dean and Sam before nodding curtly and tugging his wrist out of Dean’s grasp. Dean let go and stared dumbly at his now empty palm. Castiel left without so much as another word. Dean cursed inwardly.

“Dean, this is Michael,” Sam introduced the slender, brown-haired man stood next to him as Dean regained his composure and got to his feet. 

“A pleasure, agent.” Michael held out his hand with a smirk. Dean shook the offered hand with a forced smile plastered on his face. “Now, I’m sorry to be a hindrance, but this time is a quiet time for the residents and it would be much appreciated if you could continue your investigation at another time.”

“Of course,” Sam agreed politely. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, uh, thanks.” Dean mumbled.

They turned on their heels and left Walker House, silently.


	3. Burdens and Cheeseburgers

“We have to get our hands on some of those pills,” Sam watched as Dean pushed his double bacon cheeseburger around his plate. They’d stopped at a Biggerson’s not far from the motel they were staying at. Dean was starting to concern his brother, he hadn’t even bothered to flirt with the blonde-haired waitress who’d been all but throwing herself at him from the moment the brothers had entered. “I think they’re at the middle of this melee of madness.” Sam continued.

“Mm,” Dean mumbled.

“Maybe the patients are being poisoned,” Sam wondered as he took a bite of his much healthier option of salad. “That Michael guy is definitely hiding something.”

“Yeah,” Dean pulled the top off of his burger bun and studied it before replacing it. After a moment of silence he looked up to see Sam giving him a concerned look. “What?” He snapped.

“Dean, did you get anything of what I just said?” Sam queried.

Dean pushed his burger away from him. He hadn’t had any appetite since they’d left the house. After his little episode with Castiel, he’d felt eerily calm and, ironically, it was a little unsettling. “Meds, weirdo nurses, got it.”

Sam sighed and gave Dean one of his notorious bitchfaces. “What has got you so wound up?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Sammy,” Dean smirked. Sam persisted with his unimpressed, disbelieving face. “What? You want to talk about my feelings? Should I go buy some ice cream and a chick flick and we can have a good cry?”

 _“Dean!”_ Sam protested. Sometimes it was hard to distinguish between the two brothers and figure out which one was more mature. “I wasn’t asking that, and you know it. But give me some credit, I’m your brother, dude, and I know when something is eating at you.”

“It’s nothing,” Dean ran his hands over his face, perching his elbows on the sticky surface of the diner table. “It’s just, back at the loony bin, that Castiel guy… he…”

When Dean didn’t continue, Sam pushed him on. “He what?”

“He did something to me,” Dean peeked through a gap in his fingers to gauge his brother’s reaction. Sam was frowning around a mouthful of lettuce. _Friggin’ rabbit food._

“What kind of something?” Sam broke into a small smile. “Was it a kinky thing?”

With an agitated groan, Dean smacked the fork out of Sam’s hand sending it clattering across the table. 

“Don’t be a bitch, bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Dean smiled a little at their familiar banter before leaning back in the cold leather seats of the booth. “He touched my forehead and just like that, I was calm.” Dean admitted. All the pain and guilt of the past few years just vanished. I felt whole again. Well, Dean couldn’t tell his brother everything. It wasn’t Sam’s burden to carry.

“Huh,” Sam raised his eyebrows. “Did you get him to talk?”

“Not exactly,” Dean lifted his beer to his lips, savouring the feel of the cold condensation against his dry mouth. “But you know me Sammy, give me a while and I can get anyone to turn to putty in these masterful hands.” He flexed his fingers on his free hand as if to prove his point.

Sam rolled his eyes, “difference being that this is a madman in a crazy house, not some woman in a cheap bar.”

Dean shrugged slightly, “you doubting my skill?”

“I’m just saying, Dean. It’s a big difference.”

“I’m hardly trying to get in the bastard’s pants,” Dean huffed, taking another swig of beer. “I’m going to get him talking. There’s something different about this guy and I intend to find out what.” With that promise, Dean shuffled out of the booth, pulled a few notes from his jeans pocket and dumped them on the table. He winked at his younger brother who let out a groan.

“You’re impossible.”

“I think I’m adorable,” Dean replied.

~~~~~

Castiel was scowling at the ceiling again. 

Damn that Dean Winchester with his turbulent soul and his heavy heart. In the brief moments Castiel had spent calming Dean’s spirit, he had already seen enough of the man to realise that he was broken. Broken didn’t even begin to cover it. He was shattered into a million little pieces, sharp and ragged around the edges. Castiel scrunched up his eyes as he recalled every memory he had gained from Dean. All the hurt and pain which the hunter, not an FBI agent, had encountered in the recent past. The guilt pressing down on Dean’s shoulders had been almost unbearable for Castiel to deal with and he struggled to figure out just how Dean was able to carry that burden on a daily basis. 

_He shouldn’t have to carry that burden._

Castiel had seen Dean’s soul. As mangled as his soul seemed, however distraught and damaged it was, it still shone brightly. Dean’s soul was brighter than any soul Castiel had ever come across throughout his long and tiring life. Not that an angel could get tired. _An ex-angel_ , a voice from the fair corners of Castiel’s mind reminded him shortly as it echoed around his skull. _Well, not a full angel at least._ His grace had been damaged after he’d chosen disobedience and was cast out of heaven. Not that anyone had the authority to banish Castiel, not after God had left the throng of angels to fend for themselves. Still, Castiel had left soon after Zachariah had threatened to cast him into the pits of hell to reside with Lucifer for the rest of his days. 

Still, that wasn’t the point. The point was that Dean was a righteous man and deserved to be saved, whether he knew it or not. Castiel sighed as he remembered the taller man, Sam Winchester, and how he’d looked at his brother. He was being a professional, yet his eyes still softened when he watched Dean curiously. Sam was worried about Dean too, he looked a little nervous around him, worried about pushing too hard and thus, pushing his brother to self-destruction. If Dean was aware of his brother’s concern, he tried his best to act oblivious. Why must the virtuous be so stubborn? 

Castiel wondered why Dean and Sam were so curious about the death of Augustus Madison. Castiel had known the young man, or rather, had seen him wandering around the house, murmuring about supernatural beings. It had stirred something deep in Castiel’s gut, knowing that he himself was something supernatural. He had empathy for Augustus. He knew what it felt like not to be believed, for he himself had been labelled crazy due to the ignorance of the rest of the human race. He was gripping the bed sheets in his fists again, wincing as his blunt nails dug little half-moons into palms. 

He had given thought to the death of Augustus. Every inmate who had the ability to think rationally had given thought to it. People as young and vibrant as Augustus don’t just die. Castiel felt helpless as he released the bed sheets and lolled his head to the side. There was nothing he could do whilst he was trapped in this place. A whitewashed prison filled with the mentally unstable and the plain crazy. His only hope was the righteous man and his kind-hearted brother.

Castiel had never wanted a tomorrow to arrive as badly as he did at this moment. He attempted to close his eyes against the late afternoon sun, flooding through the cheap nylon curtains. He needed to see the Winchesters again. He needed to _talk_ to them.


	4. Angelic Encounter

“Agents,” Meg greeted the Winchesters with a sly grin as the two arrived at Walker House early the next morning. It was earlier than Dean was comfortable with and had led to him already consuming a vast volume of coffee. “A pleasure as always.”

“Well you know us Meg, dedicated to the civilians.” Dean replied whilst giving her a smug grin. Meg scowled in response and turned her attention to the younger Winchester.

“How can I help you today?” She muttered, checking her watch hanging from the front pocket of her pale blue shirt. 

“We were hoping to have a chat with Michael,” Sam explained. 

“Actually, I was rather hoping I could finish my conversation with Cas, uh, Castiel.” Dean straightened his tie. 

Meg let out a barking laugh. “Did you just say ‘conversation’? With Castiel?” She wiped a non-existent tear from her eye. “No disrespect agent, but Castiel hasn’t spoken in weeks, so what makes you so special?”

Dean glowered at the nurse. “If you’d just show me the way to his room,” he said with a bitter tone to his voice.

“Sure thing cowboy,” Meg responded with a wink. “Just be gentle with him.”

Sam let out a strangled sound and Dean rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“This way,” Meg’s sneakers squeaked against the floor as she turned and began walking briskly down the hall. The Winchesters were close on her heel. They finally came to a stop outside one of the rooms. The door was tightly shut.

Room 24. Dean stored the information in one of the far corners of his mind. 

Meg knocked a few times before pushing the door open. It squeaked on its hinges. Nothing about this place felt friendly and it made the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stand on end.

“Castiel,” Meg said brightly. She strolled towards the window and pulled open the curtains. The morning sun was far too bright as it bounced off of the white walls. Sam and Dean entered the room somewhat tentatively. Castiel was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling as if it was the most fascinating thing to have ever been brought into existence. “You have visitors.”

No response. 

Meg sighed, clearly frustrated with his continued silence. 

“Could you show me the way to Michael’s office?” Sam interrupted. He glanced at his brother who was studying Castiel with some interest. 

“Of course,” Meg smiled at Sam and made her way to the door. “Remember there are cameras everywhere in this place, agent.” She warned Dean with an accusatory point of her finger. With that she left the room.

“Be careful with that bitch Sammy,” Dean whispered to Sam. Sam thought Dean was being melodramatic but nodded nonetheless. The door shut behind him and Dean was left alone with the mysterious blue-eyed man.

Unsure with what to do with himself, Dean made his way over to the plastic chair, similar to those in the lounge, which was angled towards the bed. He sat down on the edge of it and propped his elbows on his knees.

“What’s the word, Cas?” He asked as he stared at the muss of dark hair, stark against the white pillows. Hell, it stood out against the whole of the room. 

Castiel turned his head and locked his gaze on Dean. Dean inhaled sharply as he was reminded about how terrifyingly blue those irises were. 

“Meg means you no harm,” Castiel muttered, nonchalantly. 

“Oh, in a talkative mood today, huh?” Dean smirked at Castiel. He automatically regretted it as Castiel narrowed his eyes at him. “I mean, I know, she’s just a bit of a bitch sometimes.”

Castiel nodded slowly. “She is.”

“So, what’s the deal with you? Why are you in this nuthouse?” Dean queried, sitting further back in the chair. The plastic seats in Walker House were anything but comfortable.

Castiel hesitated. He squeezed his eyes shut and rolled back over so he was facing the ceiling again. “You ask a lot of questions.” His voice was low and gravelly. It really didn’t fit the pale man laid out in front of Dean.

“I’m sorry, I guess it’s just my job.” Dean mumbled, feeling warmth spread up his neck.

“I know you’re not part of the FBI, Dean.” Castiel replied. “And I know Sam isn’t either.”

“Well, uh.”

“You don’t have to lie to me Dean Winchester.” Castiel’s eyes opened and he stared at the ceiling. His eyes were glazed over as he seemed to vacate the room once more. 

“Okay, enough with the mystery, who the fuck are you Cas? How do you know all about me and Sammy?” Dean’s voice was hushed. 

“I saw your memories when I…” Castiel searched for the right word. “… read you the other day.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” The green-eyed hunter was tense in his seat as his eyes darted all around Castiel’s face, searching for something, anything to explain who he was.

“No one believes me when I tell them,” Castiel whispered. “Why do you think I ended up in here?”

Dean didn’t know how to respond to that. All of his snarky, sarcastic comments deserted him and he felt a stab of sympathy for Castiel. “Listen, Cas,” Dean wondered when he’d started calling the near-stranger by a nickname. It just seemed to suit him better. “If you’ve been all up inside my brain, which I’m a little uncomfortable with I must add, then you know that I’ve seen all kinds of crazy. Whatever you have to say, whatever you are, it’s probably nothing I haven’t encountered before.” 

“Do you know the meaning of my name, Dean?” The question threw Dean slightly. After he didn’t reply, Castiel pressed on. “The angel of Thursday. I was born on a Thursday, you see, or rather, brought into existence.”

“What are you getting at?” 

Castiel let out an exasperated sigh. “The Lord has abandoned us.”

“So what, you’re an _angel?_ Is that what you’re trying to tell me?” Dean demanded. His heart quickened, partially in fear and partially in anger. “Are you bullshitting me, you son of a bitch.”

“I am not, as you say, _‘bullshitting you’_ ,” Castiel moaned. “I am an angel.” His eyes clasped onto Dean’s. He was surprised to see the hunter’s eyes almost fully black, his pupils had dilated and his soul had become restless again. Another sigh. “At least, I was.”

“An angel,” Dean repeated as he ran his hand over his stubbly jaw. He hadn’t had a chance to shave since Sam had insisted on a criminally early morning. “I’ve never met an angel of the Lord.”

“I’m not fully angel, I was banished from the kingdom.” Castiel’s low voice shook a little as he confessed. 

Dean was numb. Half of him was screaming at him, telling him that he had been wrong to assume that Castiel was sane, and angels weren’t real. The other half was drawn in to Castiel, yearning for more information, almost begging to be fed knowledge of the holy and unknown. Frankly, Dean didn’t need this crap. Do your job, find out about Augustus and get the fuck out of here.

“Why were you banished?” He asked. _What the fuck, Dean?_

Castiel dragged his elbows across the bed and pushed himself up so that he was sat upright, his back straight against the wall. He tilted his head at Dean in confusion. “You wish to hear my story? Do you not think me mad?”

“I’m still here aren’t I?” Dean smiled a tight smile. 

“I suppose you are,” Castiel agreed, squinting his eyes a little. “I was disobedient.”

Dean couldn’t help the small snort of laughter which escaped through his mouth. “Little rebel angel are you?”

“It’s not funny, Dean. I went against the orders of God and the Garrison and have ended up with nothing except a tiny fragment of my grace. I am also not ‘little’ as you state, in my true form I am the size of your Chrysler building.”

Any doubts which Dean had about what Castiel was claiming were quickly vanquished as he saw the intensity in Castiel’s eyes. The look sent a shiver through the normally fearless hunter. 

“Right, well, uh,” Dean fumbled for the right words to use. How do you respond to that? “I was meant to be here asking about Augustus Madison.”

“Indeed.”

“You know anything about that, Cas?”

“Yes.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Care to elaborate on that?”

“Meg is coming back in two minutes.” Castiel said simply. 

“So what, you don’t speak to anyone other than me?” Dean couldn’t help the small smile which tugged up the corner of his lips or stop the warm feeling blooming in his chest. “Guess that makes me pretty special. Are we, like, best buddies now?”

Castiel rolled his eyes and slid down against the pillows. “Goodbye, Dean.”

“But you never-”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

“All done in here?” Meg poked her head through the door. Dean threw one last glance at the man, no, angel, lying contently before rising to his feet and heading towards the door. _Feathery bastard._

“Yeah, I’ve got a lot to mull over,” Dean rolled his shoulders and caught Meg’s curious gaze. “Cas is one interesting son of a bitch once you get to know him.”

He pushed past the nurse and found Sam stood, scribbling something in his scruffy notepad. Sam’s hair had grown to an almost ridiculous length. 

“All good?”

“Let’s debrief back at the motel,” Dean responded. “I could really do with a sit down.”

Sam scoffed as he pocketed his notepad.

“Lead the way, agent.”


	5. Idaho

“An angel,” Sam repeated for the fifth time. They were back at the dingy motel, sprawled out on the twin beds. Dean was on his back with his left arm thrown across his eyes. He was already bored of this conversation and was sick of his brother repeating the word ‘angel’. It reminded him of Castiel and the case which still seemed to be getting absolutely nowhere. “Huh.”

The room smelt musty and Dean tried not to overthink the weird stains on the bedspread. He’d gotten all too used to moving around from state to state and crashing out in crappy motels in the middle of nowhere, after all he’d been doing it for as long as he could remember. It didn’t make it any easier or more comfortable though. He squirmed and let out an agitated sigh.

“That’s what he said,” he mumbled. 

“But _angels_ ,” Sam muttered to the air. He was sat cross-legged on his moth-eaten duvet, his laptop a few inches away from his feet. 

“I swear to god, if you say that one more time I will punch you in the face,” Dean groaned. His arm slipped away from his face and he cast a glare at his oversized brother.

“Say what? Angel?” Sam said with a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. The answering moan told him not to push his brother any further. “We’ve never come across an ang- I mean… one of those.”

“I never thought they existed,” Dean conceded. He sat up and swung his legs off the side of the bed. “But that place is starting to make me question a few things.” He gestured vaguely with his hand, waving it around in the air. 

“There’s definitely a lot of lore on angels,” Sam tapped a few keys on his laptop. “It’s just a matter of figuring out which of it is true. If Castiel is telling the truth, then he could be very useful in the case. I read somewhere about how they can read minds and stuff.”

“What do you mean _‘if’?_ Are you implying that just because that poor son of a bitch is in the nuthouse that he is lying to us?” Dean fixed his brother with a withering glare. 

Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean before clearing his throat. “Sorry Dean, I didn’t realise he meant so much to you.”

“Well you shouldn’t- wait what?” Dean spluttered.

“You couldn’t wait to get out of that place yesterday and now you’re all ‘they’re not crazy’. Sorry man, it’s just such a sudden switch,” Sam explained as he focused on his laptop screen. He didn’t want Dean to get too angry with him because, after all, he’d only just started getting his brother back. 

Dean had been pushing his little brother away for a few months now. Thinking back, Sam could almost pinpoint the exact moment it had happened. The moment when Dean had decided that he was poisonous to be around and that Sam would be better off if they kept their distance.

They’d been hunting a wendigo on the outskirts of Idaho. The hunt had been going smoothly, a little too smoothly for the hunters’ liking. Nothing ever went smoothly unless there was a catch, and that catch often involved broken bones or ugly scars. They'd managed to track the abomination to an abandoned warehouse and were certain they had the creature trapped in the basement. It was dark down there and smelt inexplicably of wood-shavings. Sure enough, the hunt took a turn for the worst when Dean found himself unarmed and cornered. Sam remembered that moment with more clarity than he was entirely comfortable with. The scene unravelling before him seemed to slow down and the world dropped away around him, leaving him only with the thud of his quickening heartbeat and tunnel vision. All he could see was his brother’s terror-stricken face. Dean tried so hard to never look scared, for Sam’s sake more than his own, but this one time had left Dean looking truly vulnerable. Although he'd never admit it, it had terrified Sam. That terror had led to Sam running at the creature with a makeshift flamethrower clenched tightly in his hand. The wendigo was quicker than both of the hunters and swiftly abandoned Dean in order to throw Sam a good 7 feet through the air until he came into crashed into a wall with a sickening crunch. He’d blacked out at that point.

When he did come round, he was in the passenger seat of the Impala, surrounded by the familiar smell of worn leather and gunpowder. Sam had risked a glance at his brother and wished he hadn’t. Dean was clutching the wheel a little too tightly, to the extent that his knuckles had turned white, and his eyes had glazed over. It was at that moment when Sam realised he’d lost his brother.

 _“Dean,”_ he had murmured. His voice came out cracked from dehydration. 

_“Sammy,”_ Dean had replied.

Sam had frowned at that response. _“Did you kill it?”_

 _“That son of a bitch is burnt into a pile of ashes.”_ Dean’s tone was flat, he was completely emotionless. _“Are you still hurt?”_

 _“It’s not that bad, I guess.”_ Sam had lied for the sake of his brother. 

_“I should have been more prepared. I’ll never put you in that position ever again.”_ Dean refused to look at Sam.

 _“Forget it, you would have done the same for me, we’re family.”_ That sentence had been a bad decision on Sam’s part. He’d watched as Dean almost shook with anger. He wasn't angry at Sam, but himself. From that moment on, Dean had never put Sam in any overly dangerous situations again. 

Sam knew that Dean blamed himself too easily for the deaths of many, even when it was beyond his control. He also knew that it was breaking Dean down little by little and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it. He missed his brother.

He really didn’t want Dean angry at him now. So Sam was focusing intensely on his laptop screen and the page he’d just found about angel lore.

“I believe Cas, that’s all,” Dean said with a shrug. “Something in my gut tells me that he’s the furthest thing from crazy in that place.”

“Gabe and Balthazar didn’t seem that bad either,” Sam replied as he dragged his eyes over the information he’d found. “I think we’re going to need their help to figure this whole thing out.”

Dean nodded slowly. “What did you find out from that dick, Michael, anyway?”

“He was a little closed off.”

“When you say ‘a little closed off’…” 

“I mean, he told me nothing.” Sam said dejectedly. “I didn’t want to be too obvious about the red pills but I did ask about what kind of drugs they were administering. That got his back up no end. He started ranting at me about how he had no idea how it was any of my business as it had absolutely nothing to do with Augustus’ death.”

“If he was poisoning Gus then it has _everything_ to do with it,” Dean snapped. He got to his feet and shuffled to the mini-fridge on the other side of the room. The fridge hardly functioned as a fridge and the beer wasn’t as chilled as Dean was hoping it would be. But it was still beer and Dean knew that if he couldn’t escape from his problems, he could at least drown it in copious amounts of alcohol. He took a long swig before fixing his gaze on Sam once more. “I say we break into the drugs cabinet and steal the goddamn pills.”

“That would be a great plan if we knew where they were kept,” Sam mumbled. 

“They’re not on site?” Dean queried.

“I’ve swept every inch of that place,” Sam ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly at his scalp. “There’s nothing, Dean.”

“Huh,” Dean’s eyebrows rose slightly. “That’s a bitch.”

Sam smiled slightly. “Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“It says here that angels have the ability to see into the souls of those who grant them access and can also manipulate the spirits of people in order to change their emotional state.” Dean stared back at Sam with a blank look. “Isn’t that what Castiel, uh Cas, did to you the other day? You said that he touched you and you felt calm. Did you allow him access?”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “First off, could you make that sound any more gay? I did not ‘grant him access’ or whatever. He literally just pressed two fingers to my forehead. Secondly, is this confirming that Cas is telling the truth?”

Sam worried at his bottom lip before nodding tentatively. “I suppose it does.”

“We need to talk to Cas,” Dean stated.

“Maybe the residents will know more about those pills too.” Sam added.

Dean placed his empty beer bottle on the bedside table before toeing off his boots. “We should check out the reports from the morgue as well, if it was something in the pills then there must be some chemical residue, right?”

“Depends on what was actually in the pills. It could be magic or demon blood, hell, it could be anything.” 

Something in Dean’s stomach dropped. Sam was right, of course the nerdy bastard is right, but it did nothing to calm his mind. The night had come quickly and both Winchesters were fighting the urge to yawn. It was Sam who lost the fight first and consequently let out a loud sigh. 

“We’ll check it out tomorrow,” Dean announced. “But first we need our four hours.”

Sam gave a small sound of agreement before snapping his laptop closed. He just hoped, for the Dean’s sake, that Dean would make it through the night without the nightmares which normally riddled his mind. 

“Sleep well, Dean.” Sam said softly.

Dean smirked, but the smile got nowhere near his eyes. “You know I always do.”

~~~~~

The floor was sticky as Castiel placed his palms flat against it. He’d been sat against the cold wall, under his small window, for a few hours. Well, he’d been there ever since the screams had begun. 

The whole place had been on lockdown since dinner in the late afternoon. Castiel was aware that this would happen, as it always happened from time to time. It seemed inevitable in a place like Walker House, which was a mental asylum after all, that people would be analysed and placed on different medication in order to help ‘cure’ them. However, whenever the meds were changed it always seemed to bring about distress on an alarming level. Castiel was yet to have his fortnightly examination, he was dreading it, but he knew that many of the residents had their assessments today. Some of them would, regrettably, end up on those red pills. 

Most of the residents were either too ignorant to notice, or decided to completely disregard, the red pills and the effects they seemed to have on those who took them. Castiel was all too aware of them and was determined to never take one as long as he was restrained in this place. 

Another scream pierced through the building and Castiel screwed his eyes tightly shut. He had the urge to bury his head deep underground in an attempt to shut out the sounds, or at least muffle them so that they didn’t sound like the agonising cries of pain and torment that they were. Castiel let out a shaky breath and pressed his palms harder against the floor until his fingers began to tingle with the pressure. His angelic abilities meant that each emotion carried in the shrieks was amplified until Castiel could feel it deep in his bones and it was driving Castiel, ironically, to insanity. He wanted to escape into the night which was just outside his window. 

There was no way out though. There had never been a way out for the angel of the Lord. He was trapped in every way possible. For the moment, he was imprisoned in this small room with little furniture and little comfort. The doors were all locked. He’d half-considered pleading with Meg to make an exception for him, he knew that the nurse had a soft spot for him, after all. But something about it didn’t seem right and so he’d just stared at her as she explained what was happening and why the doors had to be locked. A look of doubt had still passed over Meg’s face as she placed a new glass of water down for Castiel and backed towards the door. 

Castiel pressed the back of his head against the wall for a moment before pushing himself forward and onto his knees. There was only one person he could think of who could help him right now, and that person wasn’t even technically a person. The floor was much to solid for Castiel's liking and his knees ached as the cold seeped through his thin scrubs, but he endured it as he clasped his hands together and began to pray. He asked God for mercy, not just for him but for all of the residents, he also asked for a sign, anything, which would show him that He was still watching over His angels. Castiel's faith was strong, but since he'd been admitted to the mental asylum it had been tried and tested. Frankly, Castiel was near breaking point and that was definitely somewhere he didn't want to be.

After he'd finished praying, Castiel slumped back against the wall and dragged his knees up to his chin. He pushed his face into his legs and found a little solace in the darkness. The moon was much too bright tonight and Castiel knew that the curtains would do little to stop the moonbeams flooding his room with an unearthly light. So for now, the darkness was good. It gave him a chance to clear his mind of red pills and wild eyes, children's cartoon shows and Winchesters.

Dean Winchester. The righteous man who'd stayed even after Castiel had confided in him. Their meeting earlier had been weighing heavy on Castiel's mind as he replayed it over and over in his head, picking apart each part of their short conversation. Dean had told him that he thought there was something behind Augustus' death, and Castiel had to agree with him. Hopefully Dean would come back tomorrow. Hopefully when the daylight came everything would be calm again.

Yet another pained screech dragged Castiel from his reverie. Castiel clasped his hands over his ears and slowly got to his feet. After taking a few moments to compose himself he made his way to his bed and took his hands from his ears only to pull back the covers. Soon enough he was beneath the scratchy sheets and staring up at that all too familiar ceiling once more. He let his heavy eyelids droop and close and tried to clear his mind once more.

He yearned for the morning light.

~~~~~

“So nothing, the file said nothing?” Dean ran his free hand over his face whilst his other hand kept his phone pressed to his ear. 

Sam’s voice came back over the line, “nope. No weird chemicals at all. It only mentions what we already know about his major organs being liquidised.” Dean could almost hear the grimace in his brother’s voice. “This case is getting nowhere, the only lead we have are these mysterious red pills which may or may not have anything to do with that creepy ass Michael guy.” 

“You don’t have to preach to me,” Dean responded. “Are you heading back here?” He asked as he pushed open the glass doors which led to the foyer of Walker House. 

“I’m just going to ask if they have anything which wasn’t posted in this report then I’ll be right over,” Sam hesitated slightly. “Talk to Castiel and see if he knows anything about Michael or the pills. If not, maybe Gabe and Balthazar would be a good source of information.”

“I got it Sammy,” Dean fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Why do they all have such bizarre names anyway? Maybe that’s part of their problem, I mean, what kind of parent thinks that Balthazar is a good name for their kid? It’s a mental breakdown waiting to happen.”

 _“Dean!”_ Sam protested, and Dean was sure that he was sporting one of his disapproving bitchfaces. 

“Okay, okay! Just hurry up and get your Sasquatch ass over here,” Dean ended the call and walked up to the counter. He smiled at the greasy haired boy sat behind it. “Alright?”

“You back again, man?” The boy asked. “Haven’t you guys got what you need yet?”

Dean studied the boy’s nametag, “not yet, Adam. Have we met?”

“Not exactly, I’ve seen you and that tall guy walk through here a few times, that’s all. FBI, right? Did you want me to call for Michael to see if he is free to talk to you?” 

Dean waved his hand at Adam. “That won’t be necessary. I’m actually here to talk to a few of the patients.”

Adam narrowed his eyes at Dean before passing over a clipboard with the word **‘VISITORS’** printed in black permanent marker at the top. There was something about Adam which reminded Dean of Sam, almost as if he was another little brother. Dean quickly shook the thoughts from his head. _One little brother is more than enough to care for, and look at the shitty job you are making of that._ Dean sighed to himself as he signed the paper attached to the clipboard and passed it back to Adam with a tight grin. 

“Any patients you’re planning on seeing in particular?” Adam probed. “Some of them won’t be able to take your questions today.” 

“Any particular reason for that?” Dean leant his elbow against the counter and studied the blonde haired boy. He couldn’t have been much older than nineteen, a similar age to Augustus. 

“I’m not sure if I’m meant to disclose that,” Adam looked around awkwardly before bringing his gaze back to Dean. Dean offered him a smile which made the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkle a little, as if to signal to Adam that he was to be trusted. “They- they just get put on lockdown sometimes. Normally after their meds have been changed, it can take them a while to get used to the difference and the side effects need to be monitored.”

Dean pursed his lips as his mind mulled over this new information. A change in medication possibly meant that more patients were now getting pumped full of some weird red pill crap. “Right, I was here to see Castiel primarily.”

A look of surprise flashed over Adam’s face, but it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared. Adam cleared his throat and began to type away on the computer in front of him.

“Castiel isn’t on lockdown, so it should be fine to go see him.” Adam finally said.

Dean slapped his palm down on the counter and offered Adam a radiant smile. “That’s the best damn news I’ve had all day.” And he wasn’t lying. The first thing that had crossed his mind when he’d heard of the upped doses was Castiel, whether he’d like to admit it or not. Hearing that the blue-eyed guy, no _angel,_ was okay had sent a rush of relief over Dean. 

“Huh,” Adam raised his eyebrows. His response was such a Sam-like gesture that it made Dean’s smile widen further. 

“Thanks Adam,” Dean pushed himself away from the counter. “Oh, and my partner will be here very soon. If you could let him know where I am that would be great.”

Adam nodded before focusing on the computer once more. Dean allowed himself one last glance at the teenager before pushing through the doors leading to one of the many corridors.


	6. Comfort

“Hey, Cas?” Castiel exhaled deeply as a callused hand touched his arm gently. “Are you awake?”

Castiel didn’t want to open his eyes because it would mean he had to face the day and the people who were effectively torturing vulnerable human beings. He wasn’t prepared to look into the eyes of tormentors. Instead, he decided to keep his eyelids firmly closed and focus on the contact he now had with the hunter at his bedside. From the moment he heard the footsteps on the linoleum he’d known it was Dean. The sound was much too loud to be made by the sneakers of the petit Meg. 

“Are you alright Cas? I heard they were changing some of the patients’ medication and Adam told me that you hadn’t been affected but still-” Dean clamped his lips tightly shut in order to stop anymore speech spilling carelessly from his mouth. He’d stood for a few moments before entering room 24 and tried to prepare himself for whatever may face him beyond the door. Having the knowledge he had about Castiel, he was sure that the poor son of a bitch would be feeling pretty down about the whole medication situation. After all, Castiel could probably read every single emotion in the building. Dean squeezed Castiel’s arm slightly. “Come on buddy, it’s me, you can talk to me right?”

With a great effort, Castiel opened his eyes and glanced down to where Dean’s hand was resting on his arm. Dean cleared his throat and retrieved his hand quickly. He offered Castiel a reassuring smile which Castiel failed to return. 

“Talk to me,” Dean said in a hushed voice. 

Castiel didn’t respond but instead closed his eyes once more. After a brief moment of silence, Castiel shook his head slowly. He didn’t want to relive any of last night if he could avoid it. Yes, it was Dean Winchester asking him to talk. Yes, he trusted Dean. But no, he couldn’t bring himself to face reality. 

Dean licked his dry lips and clasped his hands together in his lap. All of his fears were rearing their ugly heads and he hated it. He’d only just got Castiel to open up to him and now it was like they were back at square one, it was truly infuriating, and Dean had never hated someone more than he hated that Michael bastard at this precise moment. _Except maybe yourself,_ a voice chanted in Dean’s mind. It caused Dean to drop his head and stare intently at his hands. Dean fought the urge to reach out to Castiel and grasp hold of his arm or his hand or _anything_. He’d never been any good at consoling people but even so, he felt the overwhelming need to comfort Castiel right now.

“Did you know there is a whole load of angel lore online these days?” Dean grappled desperately to try and find a topic of conversation to drag Castiel out of his own thoughts. When he saw Castiel’s throat work slightly, Dean smiled a little and knew that he may have found something to accomplish his task. He pressed on. “Sammy, you know, my little brother, he’s super nerdy and he loves researching stuff. The second I told him about you he was like a dog with a bone. I haven’t seen him that engrossed in research for a while.” Talking about Sam brought a slight smile to Dean’s face. In his eyes, Sam will always be that snot-nosed kid who he’d make soup for when he had the flu or who he’d buy comics for when he was meant to be picking up supplies for his dad. It was easier to think of Sam that way, before his innocence got stripped away from him.

“Where is Sam?” Castiel asked, still keeping his eyes tightly shut. 

“Oh, he’ll be here soon,” Dean explained. “He was just down the morgue to see if we missed any minor details on Augustus’ file.” He grimaced. “All drew a blank. I can’t help but feel like we’re going in circles here.”

“He worries about you, Dean.” Dean didn’t know what response he’d expected from Castiel, but that definitely was not it.

“Thanks for that insight into my brother’s mind, Chuckles,” Dean said sarcastically.

Castiel squinted at Dean and looked completely confused. “I don’t understand that reference, Dean.”

Despite everything this drew a chuckle from Dean’s lips. “Don’t worry Cas, it doesn’t matter. This case is just driving me a little crazy that’s all.”

They were interrupted by a gentle tap at the door. Dean looked over to the source of the sound to see Sam pop his head around the doorframe and offer him a small smile. A nod from the elder hunter signalled that it was fine for him to enter. Even so, Sam was still a little hesitant when he strode into the room and made his way over to where Dean was sat. 

“Alright there Sammy?” Dean asked with a grin. He tried to ignore both Castiel’s observation about his brother and the dark circles which were clearly evident under Sam’s eyes. “Adam told you where to find me? He’s a good kid, that one.”

“Hello Sam,” Castiel said in his deep, gravelly voice.

“Yeah, uh, hey Cas,” Sam cast his eyes warily over the man in bed, who was now manoeuvring himself into an upright position. “It’s an honour to meet you, I’ve never met an angel, I mean I may have but how can you tell, right? Don’t you all have human vessels whilst on earth?” 

“Sammy, woah!” Dean turned in his seat to look at his brother. “Calm down, you’re practically having a nerdgasm.”

Sam flushed ever so slightly and tugged at his collar, “sorry.”

“Cas is pretty drained, the place went on lockdown last night.” Dean said slowly as he tried to gauge Castiel’s reaction.

Castiel nodded slowly and met Sam’s eyes. “This is true and, from the distress I sensed in the screams, I would suggest that more of the residents have been placed on higher doses.”

“Red pills?” Sam directed his question at no one in particular.

Dean raised his eyebrows at Castiel as if to relay the question to him. Castiel glanced between the two brothers and looked a little terrified. 

“It’s possible,” his reply came out as barely more than a whisper. “More and more of the residents seem to be placed on that medication these days.”

“Not you though, yeah?” The question rushed out from Dean’s lips before he had a chance to stop it.

Sam cocked an eyebrow at Dean before dragging his eyes back to Castiel. 

“I haven’t been administered those drugs, but I am set to have my fortnightly appraisal in two days, so I may be allocated them before the end of the week.” Castiel said quietly. “Do you have suspicions about those pills?”

If Dean wasn’t feeling so sick at the prospect of Castiel being placed on potentially lethal pills, he would have responded. But he couldn’t. His mouth dried out and any words he could have used into order to reply evaporated on his tongue. Dean dropped his eyes to his lap once more.

“Yeah,” Sam cleared his throat. “We have knowledge that Augustus was placed on such medication before his death. Any idea what’s in those pills, Cas?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes and studied Dean for a moment. “All I know is that they are the ‘last resort’, at least that is what Michael called them. They’re for the residents which have deteriorated.”

“So, more for the total crazy rather than the slightly unstable?” Sam queried with a frown. Castiel nodded and clenched his fists on top of the bedspread. “Then I don’t see why Augustus was administered them.”

“Unless Michael wanted Augustus gone for some reason,” Dean muttered. “The fact of the matter is we’re not going to know what is going on until we get our hands on some of those drugs.”

“They aren’t kept on site,” Castiel stated coolly. “No one knows where they are kept. Meg once informed me that a tray is left at the outlet shaft at the allocated times and all she has to do is take each labelled container to the right recipient.”

“Are the red pills left there?” Dean recognised the hope in Sam’s voice and only wished that he himself was as hopeful. 

Castiel looked solemn as he shook his head. Sam visibly slumped as his little bubble of hope was burst in an instant. “Michael administers those drugs himself.”

“Figures,” Dean said with a roll of his eyes. “So yet again we are no closer to getting any answers about that poor Augustus bastard.”

“Hey, do you know much about Gabe and Balthazar? They seemed to know quite a lot about the red pills.” Sam fiddled with the buttons on his blazer. 

“Gabriel and Balthazar are very observant members of Walker House,” Castiel commented. “They have been here for a long while too, so it would be ignorant to dismiss their views and explanations.”

“That can’t be good if they’ve been in here for a while,” Dean smirked. “What are they in here for anyway? More rebellious angels?”

“Dean, I would know if any of my brethren were present in this building,” Castiel scowled a little at the elder hunter, much to the amusement of Sam. “I believe Balthazar is in here for severe depression and Gabriel is here due to his childlike mannerisms. Gabriel has gained the title of ‘the Trickster’ amongst the staff here.” 

“That Balthazar guy doesn’t seem that depressed to me,” muttered Dean.

“People don’t always show how they are truly feeling,” Castiel held Dean’s gaze with a steely glare. “You should be aware of that yourself, Dean.”

Dean let out a hollow laugh as he glanced between Castiel and Sam. Sam was now wearing a very concerned look on his face and it hit Dean straight in his gut. _He worries about you Dean._

“Well, Cas, how about you come and do some of your soul-reading, angel mojo stuff with me and Sammy?”

“I will use my ‘ _mojo_ ’ to help you if you so wish,” Castiel conceded. “But I must warn you that I do not have my complete grace.”

“Angel or not, we could use your help,” Dean admitted. With a gentle nod, Castiel agreed. “Hey we’re quite a team.” He flashed his brother a dazzling smile.

Sam rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile of satisfaction that came with seeing one of Dean’s genuine grins. Maybe there was hope for the Winchesters after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be updating very soon, this was meant to be a 15,000 word fic but it's been kinda slow building and so it will, without a doubt, be much longer than that. 
> 
> You can always find me on Tumblr (destieldaydream.tumblr.com) if you have any questions/prompts.


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